Releasing Demons Quotes

Whenever a thing is done for the first time, it releases a little demon.

Gradually, I began to resent Christian school and doubt everything I was told. It became clear that the suffering they were praying to be released from was a suffering they had imposed on themselves—and now us. The beast they lived in fear of was really themselves: It was man, not some mythological demon, that was going to destroy man in the end. And this beast had been created out of their fear.

I'll be there for ya, girl. No matter what. Beck took a deep breath and released it slowly. He had to stay strong for her, make the tough decisions. It was best that Paul's daughter never know how he felt about her. There'd be less hurt that way, for both of them. Just keep her safe, God. I can settle for that.

Release the demon under promise that I'd be repaid handsomely, my enemies destroyed? Hmm, where had I seen this before? Oh, right. Every demon horror movie ever made. And the horror part started right after the releasing part.

The Word of God released from your mouth will be planted in your heart. Faith is released from the mouth. The mouth can only release what is in the heart. Faith in the heart that is released through the mouth can move mountains.

Andrea, in less than twelve hours, Atlanta will be full of demons. They will kill, feed, and release more demons. What emergency is more important than this one? She hesitated. "I'm not supposed to disclose this. There's a man. His name is Roland..." I almost punched the wall. "What is he doing that's so damn crucial? What, is he building another tower? It will fall like all his other ones. Or did his eye finally grow back and he decided to have a battle to celebrate?

We must depend on His Word, pray the promises of God, and then watch what happens. The Word spoken through your lips releases angels.

The war educated a generation of believers in force. The demons of hatred and murder then released continue their activity.

Good a reason for writing as I know: releasing demons, letting them fly.

Don't give up. Don't give in. Wake up, release your warrior and tell your demons, 'Not today! Let's dance muther fuckers!' Keep fighting the good fight.

The gremlin-like demon hissed at me and grabbed its severed arm and took off out the window.

I am releasing my own demons of times gone by and seizing the opportunity to find my own corner, my own fortress, my own calm and peace. Life is not unfair.

Whenever a thing is done for the first time, it releases a little demon. - Emily Dickenson

Ah, me lovely Jo, let’s mosey outside and talk.” He finally released her hand. “I need to know where and when I can take ye.” Really, demon, double entendre? As if this pirate had game!

The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain,” said Lord Byron, enunciating a basic Romantic idea and, perhaps, hoping that goblins, ghosts, and demons provided some necessary release

She thinks I'm a monster and she doesn't even know I'm a demon yet.

Pilate was required to release one of the prisoners, so he gave the mob the choice of Jesus or Barabbas, a notorious murderer and insurrectionist-in otherwords, someone who incites mobs. Again, the mob "spoke with one voice" demanding "with loud shouts" that Jesus be crucified.

And the more he gazed at her, the more he felt a twinge of something he couldn’t quite describe, an unknown surge that bubbled inside him from the first moment he’d caught sight of her, and it wouldn’t release him.

It looked like a massive bear atop the dune. It stood up onto its hind legs and howled into the night. Its growl was unlike any animal I had ever heard. We pulled in closer to each other as the demon glared down at us.

Although the book is exceedingly strange, expending undoubtedly several hundred thousand words [an astonishingly accurate word count], but its general importance may be stated in one sentence: it is only about the retrieving or releasing one’s mind (). For whether we folks act like demons and become Buddha are all dependent on this mind.

I always seek tranquility, but what would I do if I happened to acquire such composure? I suppose that the boredom from lack of the absurd would expand to such a great weight, I would have to run amuck and shatter it, for my own twisted freedom. Why step out of the ordinary? People have been known to go insane when faced with unfamiliar conditions for extended periods of time. So who is to say it can’t go vice versa? Release the madness, release the demons. Chin high, spine erect, fists clinched, feet firm, balls out. Claim the moment, but disregard the aftermath.

Do not find the hunter, drǡdah. Escape the hunter." I released a slow breath, strangely aware of his hands on my shoulders. ”Someday, I want to fight the hunter like you do." ”You must learn to be hunted before you can learn to hunt.

Around you, I lose my thoughts and control,” he admits, his fingers curling around my hand, having no intention of releasing me. “I don’t know what’s come over me half the time, but aside from being unable to stop thinking about grabbing you over my lap and fucking you right now, I want to keep you safe. That’s why I asked earlier. I am on your side.

Instead he sent them skittering over the field, fragile tendrils of darkness, blindly seeking the power they recognized. Like calls to like. He released a shout as the shadows met the demon. They clung to its form. More. Aleksander's body shook as he fought to keep his sanity. that deafening, maddening vibration traveling through his skull. His threads of shadow wrapped around the demon's body, giving strength to its limbs, banding together and binding to its form. The creature shrieked. Aleksander felt the demon's mind, Nikolai's mind. The monster is me... The ghost of a thought.

That is the nature of our beasts and plagues. They are not dumb machines to be driven about. They have their own needs and hungers. Their own evolutionary demands. They must mutate and adapt, and so you will never be done with me, and when I am gone, what will you do then? We have released demons upon the world, and your walls are only as good as my intellect. Nature has become something new. It is ours now, truly. And if our creation devours us, how poetic will that be?

Taking deep breaths, I gathered my power until I could feel it crackling in my fingertips. "Let him go!" I commanded in what I hoped was my most "I am a powerful demon" voice. Probably would've been better if my voice hadn't cracked on the last word. I released the magic in my hands, which felt kind of like snapping a giant rubber band. A bolt of power flew from my fingertips, crashing into a nearby tree with a thunderous crack. There was a bright flash like lightning, and a branch fell to the ground. The ghouls startled, which meant the one holding Archer jerked his head back even farther. The smallest one made a noise that might have been distress, but they certainly didn't seem under my control. And they weren't letting Archer go. Okay, so my first experiment with necromancy was an epic fail.Take two. I fought panic and frustration. Shooting off my magic at the ghouls was no good, but what else was I supposed to try? "Think,Sophie," I muttered under my breath. "Yeah,please do that," Archer replied, his voice slightly strangled. The ghoul holding him had wrapped a hand around Archer's throat. The thing's expression wasn't threatening, just curious, like he was little kid trying to see what would happen if he just kept squeezing. I slammed my eyes shut. Okay, they were dead. Yucky dead things. That smelled like-okay, those thoughts were not helpful.

If I could tell you how many times Noah lost his temper as a kid and set his parents’ house on fire—they were uncountable.” He shook his head. “Hell, Bella, the first time I shape-shifted it took me a week to figure out how to switch back.” That made her release a soft, watery laugh. “Oh, it gets better. Ask me what my first choice of animal was.” “Nooo . . .” “A pig. Not just any pig, mind you,” he said, talking over her startled laugh. “A huge, slobbery, grunting warthod. I had seen one at the zoo, and the next I knew . . .” Bella was laughing against her fists, trying to smother it with her fingers. “My father loved to tell the story for years about how he had to kidnap his own son from the zoo, a son who was so upset he squealed loudly the entire time his father was trying to smuggle him out. My father was a Demon of the Body, so he had no way of transforming me into a less conspicuous form of matter. He never let me live it down. Can you imagine? Centuries of being reminded of the most ridiculous moment of my life.

Wounded healers are GOD's Greatest weapons.

I had taken up my quill to begin writing many times before now, but I always abandoned it quickly: each time I was overcome with fear. Yes, may God forgive me, but the letters of the alphabet frighten me terribly. They are sly, shameless demons—and dangerous! You open the inkwell, release them: they run off—and how will you ever get control of them again! They come to life, join, separate, ignore your commands, arrange themselves as they like on the paper—black, with tails and horns. You scream at them and implore them in vain: they do as they please. Prancing, pairing up shamelessly before you, they deceitfully expose what you did not wish to reveal, and they refuse to give voice to what is struggling, deep within your bowels, to come forth and speak to mankind.

The second is the release from the principle of authority, that is, from any obligation to obey parents, the Church, the state, and whoever places restrictions in the name of the common good. The

Naysayers at their polite best chided the rewilders for romanticizing the past; at their sniping worst, for tempting a 'Jurassic Park' disaster. To these the rewilders quietly voiced a sad and stinging reply. The most dangerous experiment is already underway. The future most to be feared is the one now dictated by the status quo. In vanquishing our most fearsome beasts from the modern world, we have released worse monsters from the compound. They come in disarmingly meek and insidious forms, in chewing plagues of hoofed beasts and sweeping hordes of rats and cats and second-order predators. They come in the form of denuded seascapes and barren forests, ruled by jellyfish and urchins, killer deer and sociopathic monkeys. They come as haunting demons of the human mind. In conquering the fearsome beasts, the conquerors had unwittingly orphaned themselves.

He entered the house quickly, pushed past the detectives, and clasped both of Alexandria’s hands in his. Something deep within Aidan coiled dangerously at the sight of her hands in Thomas Ivan’s. His breath stopped. His heart ceased to beat. The demon within stirred and roared for release, fangs exploded into his mouth, and the red haze of the beasts flamed in his eyes. As Thomas leaned in close, intending to kiss her cheek, Aidan fought for control so that he could casually wave a hand, directing a flurry of dust spores to whirl and dance beneath Ivan’s nose. As Ivan inhaled, he began to sneeze violently, the spasms wracking his entire body.

Teaser from the soon to be released: Redemption of Fire; My Demon Master Book 2. (with Reference to the character, Cain, from Dormant Desires, Book 4; CAIN. In the oddest, surreal moment, I look out and see one lone face. It’s Cain, the chimera by curse and not birth. He’s been welcomed into Demon-kind as one of them. Almost a treasured being for all his uniqueness. In all reality, he is the most divine among us. The product of an angel and a Neanderthal. A very son of the first Eve. It is he alone who is not prostrate before me. Our eyes lock and my vision goes wonky. I can see details and colors and etched outlines like I never imagined. I see Cain’s magnificent aura as it embraces him like a full-body halo. He is watching the spectacle that is me with detached interest. It’s as if he has truly seen everything there is too see and this is nothing more than a repeat of some long forgotten original episode. He is unafraid. I can feel how calm he is. Before he drops his eyes, surrendering to the dominance of my dragon, he gives me a slightly amused expression and a small nod of encouragement.

You are either a pawn or a player. I am no one’s tool. I am no one’s pawn. I am a player. In the world of kill or be killed I’m a murderess. I will ripe out your throat with my bare hands and lick the blood from my fingers."-Lilith

I am releasing my own demons of times gone by and seizing the opportunity to find my own corner, my own fortress, my own calm and peace. Life is not unfair... Life is good. In the end, you only have yourself to search for and find…

I want what every demon wants, Briana.” When he reaches for my hair, pausing to give me enough time to pull away, I don’t move. He tugs on one of my black-brown curls, drawing it down only to release it and watch the recoil. “Chaos.

You will never again threaten Magdelegna, or any other Demon, with your ignorance and avarice. Your death is too easy a punishment, necromancer. Be grateful for that.” A last breath rattled out of the necromancer, and Gideon released him with an absent shaking of his hand, as if flinging off some vile contaminant as the body fell to the floor. He turned his back on it without the slightest regret. His mercury gaze sought out Legna, settling on her just as she rose from her position over the female necromancer. She threw back her head and shoulders, taking the deep, cleansing breath of a female predator satisfied with her kill. She’d always been the most beautiful female he’d ever seen, but now, in this victorious moment, she was utterly stunning. Gideon felt a savage response within himself, an urge so vital that it took nearly every ounce of his formidable control to tamp it down and lock it out of his thoughts so she wouldn’t become aware of it.

The healer's job has always been to release something not understood,to remove obstructions (demons, germs, despair) between the sick pa-tient and the force of life driving obscurely toward wholeness. Themeans may be direct—the psychic methods mentioned above—or indi-rect: Herbs can be used to stimulate recovery; this tradition extendsfrom prehistoric wisewomen through the Greek herbal of Dioscoridesand those of Renaissance Europe, to the prevailing drug therapies of thepresent. Fasting, controlled nutrition, and regulation of living habits toavoid stress can be used to coax the latent healing force from the sick body; we can trace this approach back from today's naturopaths to Galenand Hippocrates. Attendants at the healing temples of ancient Greeceand Egypt worked to foster a dream in the patient that would eitherstart the curative process in sleep or tell what must be done on awaken-ing. This method has gone out of style, but it must have worked fairlywell, for the temples were filled with plaques inscribed by grateful pa-trons who'd recovered.

You can bet dicks to donuts that every interested party from the religious to the feminist will fight this method’s release to the public at large and come up with every sort of veiled explanation for its demonization in order to put the agency of birth control exclusively into men’s control.

I was created a warrior, meant to guard the king of gods. For many years, I served him well, helping to keep him in power, protecting him even from his own family. But he did not think me strong enough to guard his most precious possession, a box formed from the bones of the dead goddess of oppression. No, he commanded a woman to do it. She was known as the greatest female warrior, true, but my pride was stung.” Thankfully, Ashlyn remained relaxed. “Thinking to prove a mistake had been made, I helped release the demons inside upon the world. And in punishment, I was bonded to one.

According to one of the most-often-told stories in the Land-of-Almost-Awake, it was a small child from Miamas who managed to break the curse on the sea-angel, releasing it from the demons of memory that held it captive. When Granny told Elsa that story for the first time on her sixth birthday, Elsa realized she was no longer a child.

Athletes know. Artists know. Parents, lovers, passionate people of all kinds know that there's always more-- more to draw on, more to be, become, if you believe there's more, or even if you act as if the more is there. Your mind can protect you from taking that too far when it's not working, when it needs a course correction, when you need a rest, some nourishment, some care. But sometimes the mind can just be a glaring stop sign, a trigger warning sign, a demon red light in your head. And then ... when the red light turns to green, stops flashing, just goes away ... the brake is released, the impelling force is set free, and speed happens, magic happens, floods of possibility rush forth to fruition, breaking through the light barrier the sound barrier the barriers of body, mind, and heart, the barriers of spirit and soul, the beliefs so deeply embedded they seem to be fundamental truths. They were taught that way. They were learned that way. They are not that way. It's the right time, in the right place. The light is about to change. Break through.

In many American churches, Jesus still comes “as one unknown”— or perhaps as one so well known as to be unrecognizable. He was penniless and itinerant, yet his gospel is now attached to some of the richest and most powerful people on earth, and the good news is really bad news for the poor. Captives are not released; they are warehoused. The blind do not see; rather, the sighted wear blinders. The oppressed are not liberated; they have become the new scapegoats. Sermons are no longer dangerous; they are simply adapted to the appetites and anxieties of the audience. Conservatives rail against sins of the flesh, as if to exorcise their own demons, and liberals baptize political correctness at the expense of honesty.

For me, it was the hibiscus flower, the petal red and fleshy as our mother trailed it over the tip of my nose, before she let me gum it to release its tart flavor. For Malina, it was a gleaming, perfect cherry, which Mama crushed into a paste that she let my sister suck from her ring finger. It was bad luck to name a daughter after the thing that first sparked the gleam, Mama said. So I was Iris, for a flower that wasn’t hibiscus, and my sister was Malina, for a raspberry. They were placeholder names that didn’t pin down our true nature, so nothing would ever be able to summon us. No demon or vila would ever reel us in by our real names. Even caught up in the story, Mama could never quite explain what the gleam looked like once she found it.

Bring forth the fires of abyssal flames. Let lose the legion of demonic entities to ravage the earth. Let the harp of Nero sing praise to the chants of fallen deities once again. Let the silence of angles carve out the hearts of false believers. Come forth, Child of Tarot, of wander and signs, release your plague and terror upon the sphere of leprosy lambs that govern this world.

Gradually, I began to resent Christian school and doubt everything I was told. It became clear that the suffering they were praying to be released from was a suffering they had imposed on themselves—and now us. The beast they lived in fear of was really themselves: It was man, not some mythological demon, that was going to destroy man in the end. And this beast had been created out of their fear. The seeds of who I am now had been planted. “Fools aren’t born,” I wrote in my notebook one day during ethics class. “They are watered and grown like weeds by institutions such as Christianity.” During dinner that night, I confessed it all to my parents. “Listen,” I explained, “I want to go to public school, because I don’t belong here. Everything I like, they’re against.

She was a mimicry of a façade fashioned from the half-truths of her life. She was a beautiful abomination, patched together from the most pristine and terrible parts she could find. She was a black crystal of many cuts and facets whose dark glow suffocated and entranced those it washed over. There was a pointlessness in her eyes and apathy in her stature, and further in, past the symphonies of nightmarish screams was a blinding light. All the capability she could ever ask for kept in a place she would never reach. She chose the ice rather than the fire, shivering and hard with heat sparse, for while a flicker can exist in freeze's cold, it's heat will not radiate, no matter how bold. She took my face in hands that would make ice seem warm and whispered a blizzard into my ear, a cascading song of fear after fear. The lies she spilled, mixed with regrets and appeal, were cloaked in the inferno of her rage, the anger, the only thing that really made her real. This was her one semblance of life, a bottomless and endless void of proportions vast with a calamity of fusion and fission streaking through, a mindless hue, an emotion with a face, a darling of her race. The cracks spew darkness from within her ever so pale skin. They congregated on her curves and flesh in black and churning rivers and streams. They flooded every dip with blackness. They filled every hollow with unstable curiosity, this is her release, this is when she is free. The faces of deceit always laugh, they never wallow for their lies are a pleasure tool, her insides are contorted in laughter the same way, just as slick, just as cruel. A crude combination of fascination, of animation, of the darkest demons of them all. She was poetry written in pen, scratched and scribbled again and again. Ink splattered across the page, and within those scrawled words, those small, sharp incisions, an image can be seen, and you're left to wonder what, in the end, this all could mean...

She always had meant to leave. She hadn’t done it because she thought it was such a disgrace; she had no place to take her children, and she was afraid he would kill her as he threatened. Twenty-five years of married criminality, official monogamous prostitution, between a “damn fool woman” and the “sorriest man that God ever let live” ended. [The divorce lawyer] had released her from her demon.

That’s because you are a warrior queen, made to shed the blood of our enemies,” he tells me, a fierce pride in his tone as one hand comes up to stroke down the side of my face. “And you are perfect, Lilly Vanderbilt. Just right for us.” A shiver runs down my spine at his words, my inner demon preening at his praise and acceptance. After all, what better way to defeat the monsters that plague us than by becoming monstrous ourselves?

That’s because you are a warrior queen, made to shed the blood of our enemies,” he tells me, a fierce pride in his tone as one hand comes up to stroke down the side of my face. “And you are perfect, Lilly Vanderbilt. Just right for us.” A thrill runs down my spine at his words, my inner demon preening at his praise and acceptance.  After all, what better way to defeat the monsters that plague us than by becoming monstrous ourselves?

Luke 4:18: “The Spirit of the Lord is on Me, because He has anointed Me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent Me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed…” This verse is rarely thought of as referring to spiritual sight, but let us look a little closer. Jesus said that He was anointed to preach good news to the poor, which is a spiritual activity. He was anointed to proclaim freedom to the prisoners and to release the oppressed. I propose that this does not refer to actual prisoners and oppressed people, as evidenced by the fact that Jesus was not literally opening jail cells to set captives free. Instead, He healed and freed hearts and delivered others of demonic oppression. This leads to the conclusion that perhaps Jesus was not only healing the physically blind, which He certainly did, but also the spiritually blind.

The East India Company was no apparition though; it was the template for many subsequent corporations […] Liberals betray themselves […] the moment they turn a blind eye to this kind of hyper-concentrated power. […] This is why trading in apples does not come even close to trading in shares. Large quantities may produce, at worse, lots of bad cider, but large amounts of money invested in liquid shares can release demonic forces that no market or state can control.

The demons, they return to haunt the crimp in my heart. No amount of burning herbs, or magic spells and bitter potions cast the beasts away. Garlic rosaries won't remove the black infection slowly devouring within. Only love, perfect love, casts out the monsters and the fiends that invade like a thief in the night infecting and destroying, attempting to steal my joy. But love is life and I choose life. I choose love. Throw away the herbs, release the spells, let me swallow love's divinity.

Brastias, general of the Dark Plains rebellion and Annwyl’s second in command, leaned back into the hard wood chair and rubbed his tired eyes. She must be dead. She had to be dead. Annwyl would never disappear this long without word sent. He’d already sent trackers out to find her, but they came back empty-handed, losing her trail somewhere near Dark Glen, a haunted place most men dare not enter. Of course, Annwyl was not most men. She often dared where others fled. She remained the bravest warrior Brastias knew and he’d met many men over the years who he considered brave. But Annwyl could be foolhardy and her anger . . . formidable. And yet every day for two years Brastias thanked the gods for his good fortune. On a whim they had attacked a heavily armed caravan coming from Garbhán Isle. Its cargo had been Annwyl. Dressed in white bridal clothes and chained to the horse she rode, her destiny to be the unwilling bride for some noble in Madron. And based on how heavily armed her procession was, dangerously unhappy about it as well. Once the attack began, one of his men released Annwyl and told her to escape. She didn’t. Instead she took up a sword and fought. Fought, in fact, like a demon sent from the gods of hate and revenge. Her rage a mighty sight to behold. By the time the girl finished, she stood among the headless remains of those she killed. Her white gown completely covered in blood. On that day the men had given her the name Annwyl the Bloody and, as much as she hated it, the name stuck.

Renounce we things carnal, that we may at length bear fruits spiritual. Seize the opportunity — albeit not earnestly desired, yet favourable — of not having any one to whom to pay a debt, and by whom to be (yourself) repaid! You have ceased to be a debtor. Happy man! You have released your debtor; sustain the loss. What if you come to feel that what we have called a loss is a gain? For continence will be a mean whereby you will traffic in a mighty substance of sanctity; by parsimony of the flesh you will gain the Spirit. For let us ponder over our conscience itself, (to see) how different a man feels himself when he chances to be deprived of his wife. He savours spiritually. If he is making prayer to the Lord, he is near heaven. If he is bending over the Scriptures, he is wholly in them. If he is singing a psalm, he satisfies himself. If he is adjuring a demon, he is confident in himself.

FEBRUARY 3 MY FIRE WILL CONSUME THE WORKS OF WITCHCRAFT AND OCCULTISM DO NOT TURN away from Me to serve other gods, for if you turn your children away from Me to serve other gods, My anger will burn against you and will quickly destroy you. Break down the altars of witchcraft and burn any occultic idols in the fire. For you are a people holy to Me. I have chosen you out of all the peoples on the face of the earth to be My people, My treasured possession. Do not test My promises to you and turn to witchcraft and idols, for I will cause a fire to consume your wickedness just as I did with the children of Israel. ACTS 19:18–20; DEUTERONOMY 7:3–6; PSALM 106:16–23 Prayer Declaration Lord, release Your fire and burn up the idols of this land. Let the works of witchcraft and occultism be burned in Your fire. Let Your flame be kindled against wicked spirits, and let demons be exposed and cast out with Your fire.

There's always a moment before a storm when the wind seems to change its mind. It plays at domesticity; it flirts with the blossoms on the trees; it teases the rain from the dull grey clouds. This moment of playfulness is when the wind is at its cruelest and most dangerous. Not later, when trees fall and the blossom is just blotting-paper choking the drains and rivulets. Not when houses fall like cards, and walls you though were firm and secure are torn away like paper. No, the cruellest moment is always the one in which you think you might be safe; that maybe the wind has moved on at last; that maybe you can start rebuilding again, something that can;t be blown away. That's the moment at which the wind is at its most insidious. That's the moment where grief begins. The moment of unexpected joy. The demon of hope inside Pandora's box. The moment when the cacao bean releases its scent into the air: a scent of burning, and spices, and salt; and blood; and vanilla; and heartache.

When we gaze sympathetically at the human condition of our 'enemies' we rather lovingly, gaze, oh so briefly, at our true moral reflection. We edge and creep ever closer to that final jump into the abyss of moral ambiguity. The tears will stream with fury as you release those bound demons from within. Then, and only then, you will SOAR. I most certainly do not guarantee that you'll find it ANY better than walking, or even yet, crawling (the view is terrifying at first -- and the wings will shame you with ANGELIC glory!) but haven't you always wanted to FLY? The prerequisites for flight are a growing of the mind's wings and the shedding of tremendous moral weight. Always inevitably, you will climb to view the entire landscape -- ascending with greater speed and pressure. And when the view of the abyss has squeezed every droplet of humanity from your heart-- when you bear and peer into the face of GOD -- I assure you, you will fall and tumble majestically through the mind's clouds, returning to homely feet, swaddled in terrible and gorgeous humanity, just as you always have, safe in bed, night-light beside, shining in the darkness.

Release him or else.” Remy groaned as he couldn’t help imagining the jests he’d have to put up with. What male allowed himself to get saved by his woman? “What are you doing, Ysabel? I have this under control.” “Really, because from here it looks like you’re all tied up.” She strode into view with a cool smile, wearing an outfit that would look even better on the floor. “Bah, as if something like rope could hold me.” He yanked his arms apart and showed her his freed hands, a moment before a sharp point pressed against the back of his neck. “Move and he dies!” Francisco yelled. Cocking a hip, and crossing her arms, a smirk crossed his witch’s lips. “I don’t think so. That demon belongs to me, and I’d prefer him in one piece. So move the dagger away before I hurt you. Or don’t. But know this, if you even so much as scratch him, I’ll make sure your return to Hell is even more painful.” “I knew you cared,” Remy exclaimed. “Apparently, the insanity in your family is contagious,” she replied dryly. “Besides, you already forced me into admitting I loved you. As such, I realized I couldn’t exactly let Francisco kill you. That should be my pleasure alone.” “You say the sweetest things,” Remy teased.

JANUARY 26 I WILL GIVE YOU SWEET REST IN THE NIGHT DO NOT BE filled with fears in the night hours, My child, for I have promised to be your fortress, your place of safety. I have spread My wings over you, and I will keep you secure. You don’t need to worry about dangers at night for you will not be harmed even though thousands may fall all around you. Remember how I sent My angels to guard My servant Paul when he was bound by chains in a prison cell. My angels filled his prison cell with light and caused his chains to fall off. They escorted him out of his cell, through the prison gates, and opened the city gates to let him escape. You too can count on My angels’ protection in the night hours. Fear not, and listen for the sound of My voice, for I will fill your heart with My song in the night hours. PSALM 91:1–7; ACTS 12:6–10; PSALM 42:8 Prayer Declaration You are my shield, and You give me victory and great honor. I pray to You, and You answer from Your sacred hill. I sleep and wake up refreshed because You, Lord, protect me. I will rest at night because You give me sleep. I take authority over every demon that is released against my family and me at night. I will meditate upon my Lord in the night watches.

Stalling. Buying time. Gray chuckled, releasing me with one last nudge to my chin. “But are you afraid?” he asked, tilting his head as he knowingly looked at where I’d burrowed my fingers into the base of the tree, melding the wood around me so that I could become one with it. “Or are you just pissed?” “I’m always pissed,” I snapped, clenching my teeth together as I sank into that anger. Into the feeling of being so fucking tired of being somebody else’s puppet. If I’d been stronger, I’d have let Gray take my magic and walked away as soon as I had the chance, but I was too afraid to live with the hole inside me. “You wanting to fuck me when I’m afraid doesn’t exactly put me in a good mood.” “I don’t want to fuck you when you’re afraid, wife,” he said, stressing the word. I flinched, as I suspected I would do every time he called me by the term that I was so certain couldn’t be possible. I didn’t pretend to know the intricacies of demon marriage rites, but it seemed like even for the evil creatures from Hell there should have been some level of consent involved. “I want to fuck you when you’re so mad you try to claw my eyes out. I want to fight you, and then I want to fuck you while you direct all that anger toward me.

I'm sorry.' I blinked. 'What do you possibly have to be sorry for?' 'His hands were shaking- as if in the aftermath of that fury at what Keir had called me, what he'd threatened. Perhaps he'd brought me here before heading home in order to have some privacy before his friends could interrupt. 'I shouldn't have let you go. Let you see that part of us. Of me.' I'd never seen him so raw, so... stumbling. 'I'm fine.' I didn't know what to make of what had been done. Both between us and to Keir. But it had been my choice. To play that role, to wear those clothes. To let him touch me. But... I said slowly, 'We knew what tonight would require of us. Please- please don't start protecting me. Not like that.' He knew what I meant. He'd protected me Under the Mountain, but that primal, male rage he'd just shown Keir... A shattered study splattered in paint flashed through my memory. Rhys rasped. 'I will never- never lock you up, force you to stay behind. But when he threatened you tonight, when he called you...' Whore. That's what they'd called him. For fifty years, they'd hissed it. I'd listened to Lucien spit the words in his face. Rhys released a jagged breath. 'It's hard to shut down my instincts.' Instincts. Just like... like someone else had instincts to protect, to hide me away. 'Then you should have prepared yourself better,' I snapped. 'You seemed to be going along just fine with it, until Keir said-' 'I will kill anyone who harms you,' Rhys snarled. 'I will kill them, and take a damn long time doing it.' He panted. 'Go ahead. Hate me- despise me for it.' 'You are my friend,' I said, and my voice broke on the word. I hated the tears that slipped down my face. I didn't even know why I was crying. Perhaps for the fact that it had felt real on that throne with him, even for a moment, and... and it likely hadn't been. Not for him. 'You're my friend- and I understand that you're High Lord. I understand that you will defend your true court, and punish threats against it. But I can't... I don't want you to stop telling me things, inviting me to do things, because of the threats against me.' Darkness rippled, and wings tore from his back. 'I am not him,' Rhys breathed. 'I will never be him, act like him. He locked you up and let you wither, and die.' 'He tried-' 'Stop comparing. Stop comparing me to him.' The words cut me short. I blinked. 'You think I don't know how stories get written- how this story will be written?' Rhys put his hands on his chest, his face more open, more anguished than I'd seen it. 'I am the dark lord, who stole away the bride of spring. I am a demon, and a nightmare, and I will meet a bad end. He is the golden prince- the hero who will get to keep you as his reward for not dying of stupidity and arrogance.' The things I love have a tendency to be taken from me. He'd admitted that to me Under the Mountain. But his words were kindling to my temper, to whatever pit of fear was yawning open inside of me. 'And what about my story?' I hissed. 'What about my reward? What about what I want?' 'What is it that you want, Feyre?' I had no answer. I didn't know. Not anymore. 'What is it that you want, Feyre?' I stayed silent. His laugh was bitter, soft. 'I thought so. Perhaps you should take some time to figure that out one of these days.' 'Perhaps I don't know what I want, but at least I don't hide what I am behind a mask,' I seethed. 'At least I let them see who I am, broken bits and all. Yes- it's to save your people. But what about the other masks, Rhys? What about letting your friends see your real face? But maybe it's easier not to. Because what if you did let someone in? And what if they saw everything, and still walked away? Who could blame them- who would want to bother with that sort of mess?' He flinched. The most powerful High Lord in history flinched. And I knew I'd hit hard- and deep. Too hard. Too deep. 'Rhys,' I said.

His gaze was drawn to the tender flesh between her neck and shoulder, just under the line of her shining pearls. “Holly . . . can’t stop myself.” “Don’t stop!” “Mine.” He sank his fangs in her. Her arms fell limp over her head, her body quiescent as he rutted over her. She screamed with pleasure as she helplessly came. Her sex clenched around his cock, milking it for the seed he could finally give her. Mindlessly snarling against her flesh, he plunged into her again and again. The ache, the pressure, the throbbing inside . . . He was crazed with the need to ejaculate, thrusting, grunting, driving. He released her neck, throwing back his head to roar as his come began to shoot from him. His back bowed from the force of it, jetting out in wave after wave. He’d claimed her. Holly’s mine . . . at last. He collapsed over her, heaving his breaths against her marked neck. Once he’d begun to gather his wits, he leaned up to see how badly he’d hurt her, an apology on his lips. “Holly, I . . .” He trailed off at her expression. She looked even hungrier for him. “Is that all you’ve got?” she said, her voice a purr. His eyes went wide, then narrowed. “Oh, I’ve got more, baby.” He clutched the back of her neck. “A lot more.” “Then let’s see it.” Her claws sank deeper into his ass. He hissed in a breath, and his cock pulsed inside her. “Later, I’m gonna do you nice and slow, but right now I just need to bend you over things and see what this sexy little body of yours can do . . . .” “Try to keep up, demon.

Why did you help AgriGen for so long?" The doctor's eyes narrow. "The same reason you run like a dog for your masters. They paid me in the coin I wanted most." Her slap rings across the water. The guards start forward, but Kanya is already drawing back, shaking off the sting in her hand, waving away the guards. "We're fine. Nothing is wrong." The guards pause, unsure of their duty and loyalties. The doctor touches his broken lip, examines the blood thoughtfully. Looks up. "A sore spot, there. . . How much of yourself have you already sold?" He smiles showing teeth rimed bloody from Kanya's strike. "Are you AgriGen's then? Complicit?" He looks into Kanya's eyes. "Are you here to kill me? To end my thorn in their side?" He watches closely, eyes peering into her soul, observant, curious. "It is only a matter of time. They must know that I am here. That I am yours. The Kingdom couldn't have fared so well for so long without me. Couldn't have released nightshades and ngaw without my help. We all know they are hunting. Are you my hunter, then? Are you my destiny?" Kanya scowls. "Hardly. We're not done with you yet." Gibbons slumps. "Ah, of course not. But then, you never will be. That is the nature of our beasts and plagues. They are not dumb machines to be driven about. They have their own needs and hungers. Their own evolutionary demands. They must mutate and adapt, and so you will never be done with me, and when I am gone, what will you do then? We have released demons upon the world, and your walls are only as good as my intellect. Nature has become something new. It is ours now, truly. And if our creation devours us, how poetic will that be?" "Kamma," she murmurs. "Precisely.

New companion Yoo Joonghyuk's Black Heavenly Demon Sword filled with the power of transcendence flew to my neck. It was an inevitable blow. Then a crack appeared in the ceiling of the banquet hall. Yoo Joonghyuk looked up at the ceiling but it was already too late. The running Yoo Joonghyuk was crushed by the fragments of the broken ceiling. Some large pieces were avoided but there were too many stones pouring down. I saw a shadow in the dirty dust. The hair was sweaty like the person had rushed here. The bandages half released from the left arm was blowing in the wind. In the dust, this person smiled as she trampled on Yoo Joonghyuk. "I knew you couldn't do this without me." [The incarnation 'Han Sooyoung' is jumping into the verdict of the giant story!] pg 3901 38. Perhaps Han Sooyoung had adjusted her shares ownership to Lee Seolhwa as soon as she learnt the information here. Then she came straight to this place. Han Sooyoung turned towards the surrounding constellations and declared with a growl, "I am evil. In addition, that fucking Kim Dokja standing over there is definitely evil." Han Sooyoung made me evil regardless of everything else and continued looking at Yoo Joonghyuk and the party members. pg 3903 39. This person shouting with her short hair flying looked amazing. At this time, Han Sooyoung could be seen as the main character, not Yoo Joonghyuk. pg 3903 40. The eyes of the group shook. I saw Han Sooyoung turn away. Then I spoke like I was pulling the trigger. "You are characters of a story." pg 3925 41. 'It's no fun when no one is fighting back'pg4046 42. However, I endured. I simply had to. So that I could grasp that one and only chance soon to be coming my way pg 4078 43. Along with the explosive grinding noise, blue sparks danced in the air. "Why are you standing around dazed like that, you dumbass?!" Han Sooyoung was standing next to me now pg 4102

last sixteen years Aidan’s detected a shift among spirits. He doesn’t know what it means yet, but he’s certain there’s a pattern.” “What kind of pattern?” “Dark spirits and demons are growing stronger.” I bet Nolan could have helped figure out the pattern. I can only imagine how different all of this would be if he had been here with me since the beginning, performing research for Aidan, trying just as hard as Aidan to find answers. Maybe he would have even found some. “Can you sense the demon?” he asks. I nod. Lucio stops dead in his tracks. Despite the flames growing ever higher around us, Lucio and I feel a cool breeze coming from down the road. Lucio starts walking in the direction of the chill, and I follow, placing my feet in the dusty footprints his steps leave behind. Even though he’s not much taller than I am, his feet are bigger than mine, and I feel like a little kid every time I place one of my sneakers in the spot where his dust-covered boot was seconds before. Lucio’s wearing shorts, and instead of looking at where we’re going, I’m watching the muscles in his calves flex and release with each step. He certainly looks strong enough to confront a demon. When he stops, I practically crash into him. “In there,” Lucio whispers, nodding in the direction of a squat stucco building on our left. It’s so small that it can’t possibly have more than one room. An icy breeze blows its splintered wooden door open, bringing a wall of smoke along with it, despite the fact that it’s the only building in sight that isn’t actually on fire. The door bangs against the tiny building with a loud crash as goose bumps rise on my sweaty skin. “Why did the demon choose this town?” I ask. “These people are completely helpless.” “Exactly,” Lucio says. “The same way we gather strength from helping spirits move on, a demon gathers strength from destroying spirits.” Despite the breeze coming from the darkness just a few steps away, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so hot. Somewhere inside

That he would grant you, according to the riches of his glory, to be strengthened with might by his Spirit in the inner man; That Christ may dwell in your hearts by faith; that ye, being rooted and grounded in love, (Eph 3:16-17) I pray for you as a special child of a loving God. May every storm that has been raging in your life be abated today! May you experience calmness in every area of your life! May calmness come into your marriage, business, finances and health! May Jehovah grant you according to the riches of his glory, strength in the inner man by His Spirit! The riches of his glory are never run down; they are never depleted and never valueless. As this touches you, may intelligence be your portion, wisdom to confound the world. May knowledge become a part of your life as a member of the family of God here on earth! May you become conscious of the indwelling Christ! He lives in you; He is in every fibre of your being. He is in your bones, hair, muscles, gluttons, nerves and blood. I banish everything that is trying to invade these areas. May Christ sit as king in you, not pain, not cancer, not diabetes or any other evil disease known to man and not known to man! I command victories without number in your life. As Christ is crowned king in your life, the world will know whose you are. I pray that every place you were mocked be eradicated today. Every place were voices have been raised to mock you and to pull you down be exterminated today as you walk strengthened by His Spirit in the inner man. As the word says, He will give His angels charge over you. May angels come into battle on your behalf! I pray for the release of warring angels to fight for you, prosperity angels to gather wealth for you, angels of peace to enforce order in all the storms in your life. I pray that you be granted VIP access into secret treasures. May your prayers overcome huddles and may answers to your requests be quick and immediate. I put lines of demarcation against the devil in your life. No demon will come near your house. There is no weapon, no magic charm and no sorcery that is manufactured against you that will prosper. May your fear factor be replaced with a faith factor as you overcome every obstacle in Jesus’ name! Declaration I declare, you will not die but live to proclaim the might works of God. Your life will be a testimony for the world to witness the glory of the Lord.

When a Christian is delivered from demons or curses, it does not mean that those spirits had been living in his spirit. The Holy Spirit occupies the spirit of the believer, but demons can harass, torment, and oppress the soul of the believer. The Holy Spirit possesses the believer, meaning He owns him. Demonic spirits seek to oppress the Christian by controlling a part of his life. Being tormented by demons does not mean that you are not saved. It does not mean that those spirits own you. Derek Prince, who is a powerful influence on my life in the area of deliverance, shared in one of his talks that the Greek word New Testament writers used for demonic possession is “demonized.” He would explain that being demonized does not mean ownership, but partial control. It means that demons seek to control one area of your life. They cannot have possession or ownership of your spirit. How do you know which area demons control? Usually, it is in the areas where you are not in control because some demon is dominating that area of your soul. When you get delivered, you get the control back. During deliverance, that part of your soul gets released. Maybe you are thinking, darkness and light cannot abide together. It does not say that in the Bible. Some think that the Holy Spirit and an evil spirit cannot dwell in the same vessel. Really? Says who? The Scripture that we get this from says, “Do not be unequally yoked together with unbelievers. For what fellowship has righteousness with lawlessness? And what communion has light with darkness?” (2 Corinthians 6:14). This verse does not say light and darkness cannot coexist. It says they should not exist together. Paul is telling us the way things should be, not what they cannot be. If you think Christians cannot be demonized, let me tell you, I have heard stories of when both light and darkness operated in the same person. For some examples, there was a fallen pastor who once preached holiness while frequently visiting prostitutes; a newly saved believer who habitually returned to drug abuse and suicidal attempts of self-destruction; a Christian leader who influenced many for the Gospel’s sake but ended up in jail for fraud and thievery.  Paul stated in 2 Corinthians 6:14, “Do not be unequally yoked together with unbelievers,” and then went on talking about how darkness and light should not have any fellowship together. If darkness and light cannot coexist, then Christians cannot date unbelievers. We know that this happens all of the time. It should not, but it does. The same thing happens with demonized Christians. They should not be under this demonic influence, but nowhere in the Bible does it say that this is not possible.

According to folk belief that is reflected in the stories and poems, a being who is petrified man and he can revive. In fairy tales, the blind destructiveness of demonic beings can, through humanization psychological demons, transformed into affection and love of the water and freeing petrified beings. In the fairy tale " The Three Sisters " Mezei de-stone petrified people when the hero , which she liked it , obtain them free . In the second story , the hero finding fairy , be petrified to the knee , but since Fairy wish to marry him , she kissed him and freed . When entering a demonic time and space hero can be saved if it behaves in a manner that protects it from the effects of demonic forces . And the tales of fortune Council hero to not turn around and near the terrifying challenges that will find him in the demon area . These recommendations can be tracked ancient prohibited acts in magical behavior . In one short story Penina ( evil mother in law ) , an old man , with demonic qualities , sheds , first of two brothers and their sister who then asks them , iron Balot the place where it should be zero as chorus, which sings wood and green water . When the ball hits the ground resulting clamor and tumult of a thousand voices, but no one sees - the brothers turned , despite warnings that it should not , and was petrified . The old man has contradictory properties assistants and demons . Warning of an old man in a related one variant is more developed - the old man tells the hero to be the place where the ball falls to the reputation of stones and hear thousands of voices around him to cry Get him, go kill him, swang with his sword , stick go ! . The young man did not listen to warnings that reveals the danger : the body does not stones , during the site heroes - like you, and was petrified . The initiation rite in which the suffering of a binding part of the ritual of testing allows the understanding of the magical essence of the prohibition looking back . MAGICAL logic respectful direction of movement is particularly strong in relation to the conduct of the world of demons and the dead . From hero - boys are required to be deaf to the daunting threats of death and temporarily overcome evil by not allowing him to touch his terrible content . The temptation in the case of the two brothers shows failed , while the third attempt brothers usually releases the youngest brother or sister . In fairy tales elements of a rite of passage blended with elements of Remembrance lapot . Silence is one way of preventing the evil demon in a series of ritual acts , thoughts Penina Mezei . Violation of the prohibition of speech allows the communication of man with a demon , and abolishes protection from him . In fairy tales , this ritual obligations lost connection with specific rituals and turned into a motive of testing . The duration of the ban is extended in the spirit of poetic genre in years . Dvanadestorica brothers , to twelve for saving haunted girls , silent for almost seven years, but eleven does not take an oath and petrified ; twelfth brother died three times , defeat the dragon , throw an egg at a crystal mountain , and save the brothers ( Penina Mezei : 115 ) . Petrify in fairy tales is not necessarily caused by fear , or impatience uneducated hero . Self-sacrificing hero resolves accident of his friend's seemingly irrational moves, but he knows that he will be petrified if it is to warn them in advance , he avoids talking . As his friend persuaded him to explain his actions , he is petrified ( Penina Mezei : 129 ) . Petrified friends can save only the blood of a child , and his " borrower " Strikes sacrifice their own child and revives his rescuers . A child is a sacrificial object that provides its innocence and purity of the sacrificial gift of power that allows the return of the forces of life.

When they would spar, Calic held nothing back, as if he possessed a deep rage clawing for release. He demonstrated a ferocity Sebastian had never seen the likes of. Sebastian had the same rage bubbling inside him. However, he was able to hone it differently by focusing on the survival of his crew

He is a warden for Hells Prison. A politician shoved in the guise of a devil. He doesn’t care about the Lost Souls he steals with his promises of illusion. He just wants numbers like the republicans want votes. He lives with the other Fallen and Demons in a place made especially for their kind…The city of Sin itself. Las Vegas, Nevada. They call it Wanton. I call it hell. It's certainly hot enough."-Lilith

I pull on her tether all the time but it won’t sink in. I have a feeling I’m using too much magic. I can’t hold so many under my control and pull them in deep. Dean is the only one I have fully immersed. I am the puppet master. I am the only player on the board. Pacey doesn’t even know that the game has begun."-Lilith

Are we in heaven? May I discover the truth of how the angels treat the reptilians? Can I finally meet God and ask him to save all Earth from demon hordes that enslave humanity!? Will I find a clean toilet so I can release this nice bowel movement I've been working on?

With my eyes bugging out of my skull, I used the last of my breath and hissed, “Shallunsard.” The pressure lessened. “That is the name the world knew me by.” He released me. I slid down the wall, I was saved. I had power over a demon lord. I was, “Of course, that isn’t my true name.” Fucked. I was fucked.

Er..." I bit my lower lip. "Do you have a minute? I wanted to talk to you really quickly, without being overheard." She looked mildly surprised but sat down on the end of the bed and nodded toward a chair. "Of course." Jim ambled over, plopping itself down at her feet. I glanced at the demon. "Er..." "Jim, shoo," Aisling said, correctly reading my thoughts. "What? I'm not doing anything!" "You're making May uncomfortable. Go see what the boys are doing." "Whatever it is, it won't be nearly as interesting as this," it answered. "Oh, it doesn't matter, I guess," I said with a tight smile. "Jim might have some helpful insights as well." "I'm all over helpful insights, sister," it told me with an oddly endearing grin. "What's the problem? You can tell Dr. Jim. Is it something in the romance department? Need some advice on how to handle Gabriel?" "No, thank you-" "Ah. Then it's the sex, right? Fiery, animalistic, dragon sex too much for you?" It was difficult to keep from rolling my eyes. "Thank you, my sex life is not open to-" "What's the silver dragon element? Earth?" Jim's face screwed up as it thought. "Oh, man, that means he's gonna want to do it outdoors all the time. Buck naked in the wilderness. My advice is to take sunscreen and bug spray. And maybe a spatula or something to dig the sand out of your butt crack, in case he takes you to a beach." "Jim!" Aisling said, wrapping her hands around the demon's muzzle. She shot me an apologetic look. "I'm so sorry. It knows better than to offer unwanted sexual advice." "Just trying to be helpful," it said in a muffled voice. "Well, you're not. And you can just be quiet unless you have something of importance to offer to the conversation," Aisling told it as she released its muzzle

They were convinced that many people were living in fear, sensing that they were in bondage to demons. “For many years Satan had bound us and held us captive,” preaches Origen. But, he says, Jesus came to set us free! And people were captive not simply to generalized demons but to specific ills that manifested demonic power. For example, people were captive to “greed, which is a more subtle worship of idols”; for such people “the word and proclamation” of Christ brings release. 81 Justin provided a list of four specific addictions by which, in his view, the demons especially enslaved people: sexual compulsions, the magic arts, the desire to increase wealth and property, and hatred and violence. 82 But when humans set out to “attack the demons,” Christ acted to free those who were enslaved. As we shall see in chapter 6, by the third century the church had well-developed processes of catechesis and baptism to liberate people for a life that is free in Christ. Exorcisms were integral to these processes.

Nothing you say can justify what you just did to me. I shouldn’t have to safeword my boyfriend, he should be man enough to stop himself, and he sure as hell should keep his damn promises! I know your demons lie close underneath your skin and that you fight an endless battle to release the past, but I’m not going to save you by sacrificing myself. That’s not love; it’s torture.

Antimatter is the most powerful energy source known to man. It releases energy with 100 percent efficiency (nuclear fission is 1.5 percent efficient). Antimatter creates no pollution or radiation, and a droplet could power New York City for a full day. There is, however, one catch . . . Antimatter is highly unstable. It ignites when it comes in contact with absolutely anything . . . even air. A single gram of antimatter contains the energy of a 20-kiloton nuclear bomb—the size of the bomb dropped on Hiroshima.

I ran like someone running away from something, as if my demons were literally chasing me across the park. I ran crying, tears streaming down my face, and one time I caught myself yelling, a strange canine yelp that felt strangely good to release into that cold wind.

Because Noah used to go by another name—the First Prophet of the Vale.” From the way Thomas smirked, I had a feeling he’d been waiting to tell me this since getting me into this room. “He lived in the Vale and worked with a powerful witch to lead the wolves there to war against the vampires. When Karina fled the palace, she ran straight into Noah’s arms—and she stood by him until the witch cast the spell that opened the Hell Gate and released the demons upon the Earth.

I unbuttoned the top of my shirt as the heat of my magic made my skin prickle and I got a little carried away with the idea of making Roxy Vega bow for me in my own mind. I wanted my hand fisted in her black hair, her mouth on mine and her naked flesh pressed up against me as she gasped my name like a prayer to a god and I ruined her like a demon born to sin. But I needed to stop those thoughts in their track. Not least because I wasn't ever going to be able to indulge in them. By the time I was through with her, she'd hate me far too much for her to ever consider parting her thighs for me. More’s the pity. Marguerite appeared out of nowhere, jerking me from my fantasies about Roxanya Vega and dropping into my lap where she gasped as she found the hardness of my cock driving into her ass. She leaned in to kiss me and I dragged her closer, kissing her hard and grinding her down over my cock to try and gain some relief from the ache in it. I closed my eyes as I kissed her hard, sinking my tongue into her mouth and thinking of a girl with dark hair and fire in her soul. But as she mewled like a kitten and melted for me, my fantasy was somewhat ruined. I may not have known Roxy well, but she didn't seem like the kind of girl to melt into a puddle when I kissed her. No, she'd be all fire and spite and the kind of lust that burned the roof from houses while her fingernails gouged lines in my flesh. I tried to push that thought out, gripping Marguerite's ass and rocking her back and forth over my cock, but I was fighting a losing battle because she was mewling again and her limbs were going as floppy as my dick was becoming as she instantly let me take control. I released my grip on her waist, sighing as I pulled back and let her start sucking on my neck while I just looked up at the ceiling and waited for it to get more interesting again. Or maybe for it to just stop. But before I could make a decision on that, Milton's voice drew my attention to the other side of our group and I instantly perked up at his words. “Oh hey, it's Tory, right?” he asked and I nudged Marguerite aside to look over at the girl in question where she stood before him as she raised her hand and a tsunami of water slammed into him. The attack sent him flying back off of his chair and slamming to the floor, but my gaze was fixed on her furious features and the curl of those full lips as she glared at him. My pulse picked up as she blasted him with more water which rolled him across the wooden floor before pinning him to the wall. The group surrounding me all leapt up in shock and I almost dropped Marguerite on her ass as I stood too. (Darius POV)

Often, and I knew because I heard about it in sessions, people who revealed hurtful secrets were only trying to release their own pain by handing it off to someone else. Like a hot potato. Here, quick, take this searing knowledge so I don't have to hold it alone. This course of action is selfish and does no good, just scalds more people. I was not about to burden anyone else with my demons. Especially Ellie.

The way a machine works -- all machines work -- is that heat is transferred from a source location to an indeterminate location. By virtue of knowing that heat is available as potential energy, the possibility of anticipating where it will be released is only determinate after it is, because the figure that determines the answer to that question is Maxwell's Demon.

This is it,” Orion breathed and we turned to read the words as he held out the book. A spell was laid out to strip the newly acquired Elements from King, the answer right there before us. We needed Vampire blood to pull it off as part of a potion which Ryder immediately started writing down the ingredients to. To speed the process up, a Vampire could feed on the vessel once the Elements had been stripped away while the spell was being chanted to draw the stolen magic out of them faster, but it wasn’t necessary. But if a Vampire didn’t do that then it would take a lot longer to rip the stolen magic out of the host and that would give King more time to fight back. One glance at Elise told me she was fully planning to drain every last drop of stolen power out of King the moment she could and I swallowed down the fear that sparked in me. “There’s a warning here,” Orion said gravely, pointing to a small footnote at the base of the page. “It says that though a Vampire can drain the stolen power faster, they must act quickly to release it into the sky where it belongs. If not, the power will work to corrupt them, feeding into their bloodlust and making a demon out of them.” “We shouldn’t risk it,” I said, reaching for Elise’s hand. “We can just contain King and use the spell to force the magic out of them without you draining it.” “And what if that takes too long?” Elise demanded. “Our girl won’t be corrupted by the power,” Leon said confidently, reaching out to brush his fingers through her hair. “I just have to release it the moment I steal it. Simple,” she agreed but as I cast a look at Orion he didn’t seem at all convinced. “Dark magic lures you in unlike anything you could possibly understand without having experienced it,” he warned. “I’d think very carefully about doing this before you charge in and attempt it.” “Okay,” Elise agreed, raising her hands in surrender. “I won’t bite the fucker to drain them unless everything starts going to shit and I don’t have any other choice.” “I think that’s for the best, bella,” Dante agreed.

She threw her head back, mouth open but unable to make a sound. When finally she was able to sob, to release her breath, the breath became a moan that trailed off into a whispered word.

But I'm not a writer..." How many times have you thought that? How many times have you said it out loud? How many times have you read a beautifully worded book or a poem or an essay or a social media post and felt it take your breath away? Felt that yearning inside of you, that longing to do that or learn that or become that thing...the one that would let you find the words to share your story like that. If only you were brave enough. If only you were wise enough. If only you had all the right words. If only you were talented. If only you could speak the truth without being judged. If only you could write like her or him or them. If only you were a writer... Guess what. You are. You are a writer - and I promise you this. If you were not a writer you wouldn't be here. You are a writer because words dance in your brain and itch the tips of your fingers - begging you to pick up the pen or click the keyboard. Because a phrase on a page or the lyric of a song can steal your breath and remind you of all lines that live in your soul that long for release. Because you are pulled, again and again, and again to story. To the real and raw and the fantastically make-believe. You are a writer because of your willingness to stare into the void and face the demons and weave the beauty of the world around you into words. And even if those words don't ever make it to a page, they live inside of you. Because you couldn't stop, even if you wanted to. And you don't want to. Because the words are like your breath and the story - your story - that is the air. And the magic that happens when we come together to make stories - well, that's the universe. So the next time you're tempted to let that phrase or any other like it - slip into your brain or from your lips - shut that shit down. Immediately. You are a writer. Do you hear me? You said yes. You are here. You are showing up at the page and sitting in front of the screen. You are welcoming the muse. You are facing the fear. And you are writing. You are a writer. And that's the beginning and end of everything. Now, stop arguing with me, and go write already.

But Romaniev had stirred something in me, something dark and twisted that I hadn’t realized was buried deep inside. It was terrifying, sure. But in a way, it was freeing too, like releasing a demon I didn’t know I had. And once it was out, there was no turning back.

After a lifetime of contorting myself to fit into boxes never meant for the likes of me—it’s true. I got tired of feeling ashamed all the time. It is wildly subversive to say that I no longer feel ashamed—not in body, soul, beliefs, or movement through the world, not for who, what, or how I am. I do not hold an apology for the ways, hows, and whos of my work, my desire, and my love. There is an ownership of power in this simple fact that refuses to fit into words. But if you see me, you’ll know it. Sovereignty. That’s what I call it. Somehow, through all the twists and turns and fuckery of this life, I became a woman who is sovereign unto herself. Does this mean I’ve beaten all my demons and that I don’t give a fuck, and that everything is peachy keen all the time? Oh, hell no. Not even close. I am a woman who will forever be grappling with herself—pushing and growing and expanding and contracting, learning and unlearning, and tripping over the same lessons 50 times or more on the way to integration. It gets messy in this brain, heart, and body of mine. That’s just how I’m made. But the fact remains that no person, relationship, religion, belief system, or organization holds me to any agreement that negates my contract with myself. Fact: Your shame serves nobody. In fact, where there is shame, there is no pleasure. It is your pleasure that the universe spirals eternally toward. There comes a time in human evolution when a woman gets tired of asking permission to live, breathe, be, and love in the most honest and true way. When she stops looking outside of herself, she writes her own permission slip and doesn’t look back. A time when she is ready to own her story. Remove the masks. Shed the shame. Speak and write and live as a human sovereign unto herself. Are you ready to be subversive? How about revolutionary? Is this finally your time?

Kole has experienced so much torture in his life that he’s still inflicting it on himself every chance he gets. His fear festers no matter how much he battles for control. His mind is in a cage for his demons to hold him hostage, and he doesn’t think he deserves to escape. And I’m the trigger. The button that releases all his doubt, fear, and rage.

I use to drink every day without a care until I released the Demons that now I must bare

The Ouija Board has been evil since 1973.  Why 1973?  That's the year The Exorcist was released into theatres, raising the horror genre to a new level and forever demonizing this once effective communication device.

The Pashupatiastra was a pure nuclear fusion weapon, unlike the Brahmastra and the Vaishnavastra which were nuclear fission weapons. In a pure nuclear fusion weapon, two paramanoos, the smallest stable division of matter, are fused together to release tremendous destructive energy. In a nuclear fission weapon, anoos, atomic particles, are broken down to release paramanoos, and this is also accompanied by a demonic release of devastating energy. Nuclear fission weapons leave behind a trail of uncontrollable destruction, with radioactive waste spreading far and wide. A nuclear fusion weapon, on the other hand, is much more controlled, destroying only the targeted area with minimal radioactive spread.

The polychloride plastic bubbled hotly, releasing evil tendrils of carbonized waste floating into the air like fibrous black snowflakes from hell. Maybe the crackpot fundamentalists could use that. When you burned the cursed records, black demons fled into the air, momentarily visible, like a spirit relinquishing possession of a Haitian. Like a soul or animus departing a human corpus at death.

Antimatter is the most powerful energy source known to man. It releases energy with 100 percent efficiency (nuclear fission is 1.5 percent efficient). Antimatter creates no pollution or radiation,

It’s the longing that escapes in quiet sighs from so many church pews. We know there is more. We yearn for good news that’s really good. Without realizing it, it was what I had been waiting my whole nine-year-old life to see—and then I knew, in a sudden burst of childish tears, that this was what I wanted to keep seeing for the rest of my life. This is what the poetry and the power of God’s Kingdom is all about. Eight hundred years before Christ, the prophet Isaiah wrote to the insignificant, struggling, almost decimated nation of Israel about something that was coming, someone who was coming, who would change everything. In Isaiah 61, he described this man—the Christ—on whom the Spirit of the Lord rested, and who had come to do the following: to proclaim good news to the poor. . . . to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the LORD’s favor . . . to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion— to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. Isaiah

Susan Rosenberg was a member of the Weather Underground, the Black Liberation Army, and The Family. She conspired to kill cops, blow up buildings, and stage an armed robbery of the Brinks truck in Nanuet, New York. Sentenced to fifty-eight years in prison for felony murder and possession of more than 700 pounds of explosives, Rosenberg was released from prison by President Clinton on his last day in office. Just

Lester Dent died thinking his name and works belonged to a pulp past destined to be forgotten. Just a year before his passing, he scoffed at the mention of his old Doc Savage novels, saying, “They would be so outdated today that they would undoubtedly be funny. Hell, when I wrote them, an airplane that could fly 200 miles per hour was science fiction. They would be of no interest any more.” Five years after his death, Bantam Books released three Doc novels to test a market in which pulp reprints of Edgar Rice Burroughs’ Tarzan of the Apes were selling briskly. Thanks in part to James Bama’s powerful monochromatic covers, Doc Savage sales surged and surged until millions of copies were sold, making “Kenneth Robeson” one of the best-selling authors of the 1960s—a posthumous vindication which, for all his imaginative powers, Lester Dent himself never envisioned.

Michael, release a thousand angels to earth, to fight and destroy Satan’s demons, who torment Cillian Joseph Finn-Barry’s mind.” The next few hours were intense. Dark forces of the deceiver tried to hold onto to Cillian with all of their might. They lost. Whom the Son sets free is free indeed.

When the late Dr. Chafer (founder of Dallas Theological Seminary) was once asked why God loosed Satan after he once had him bound, he replied, “If you will tell me why God let him loose in the first place, I will tell you why God lets him loose the second time.” Apparently Satan is released at the end of the Millennium to reveal that the ideal conditions of the kingdom under the personal reign of Christ do not change the human heart. This reveals the enormity of the enmity of man against God. Scripture is accurate when it describes the heart as “desperately wicked” and incurably so. Man is totally depraved. The loosing of Satan at the end of the 1,000 years proves it.1

When Satan is released for a brief time at the end of the millennium, his 1000-year prison sentence has not reformed his character. He has not changed. And mankind has not changed either.